The Way of Kings

Other people walked about here, moving with the same slow gait. It was possible to run through the water, but there was rarely a reason. What could be so important that you had to go and make a splash and ruckus getting to it?

Ishikk shook his head at that. Only foreigners were so hasty. He nodded to Thaspic, a dark-skinned man who passed him pulling a small raft. It was stacked with a few piles of cloth; he’d probably taken them out for washing.

“Ho, Ishikk,” the scrawny man said. “How’s fishing?”

“Terrible,” he called. “Vun Makak has blighted me right good today. And you?”

“Lost a shirt while washing,” Thaspic replied, his voice pleasant.

“Ah, that’s the way of things. Are my foreigners here?”

“Sure are. Over at Maib’s place.”

“Vun Makak send they don’t eat her out of home,” Ishikk said, continuing on his way. “Or infect her with their constant worries.”

“Sun and tides send it!” Thaspic said with a chuckle, continuing on.

Maib’s house was near the center of the village. Ishikk wasn’t sure what made her want to live inside the building. Most nights he did just fine sleeping on his raft. It never got cold in the Purelake, except during highstorms, and you could last through those right well, Nu Ralik send the way.

The Purelake drained into pits and holes when the storms came, and so you just shoved your raft into a crevice between two ridges of stone and huddled up next to it, using it to break the fury of the tempest. The storms weren’t so bad out here as they were in the East, where they flung boulders and blew down buildings. Oh, he’d heard stories about that sort of life. Nu Ralik send he never had to go to such a terrible place.

Besides, it was probably cold there. Ishikk pitied those who had to live in the cold. Why didn’t they just come to the Purelake?

Nu Ralik send that they don’t, he thought, walking up to Maib’s place. If everyone knew how nice the Purelake was, surely they’d all want to live here, and there wouldn’t be a place to walk without stumbling over some foreigner!

He stepped up into the building, exposing his calves to the air. The floor was low enough that a few inches of water still covered it; Purelakers liked it that way. It was natural, though if the tide dropped, sometimes buildings would drain.

Minnows shot out around his toes. Common types, not worth anything. Maib stood inside, fixing a pot of fish soup, and she nodded to him. She was a stout woman and had been chasing Ishikk for years, trying to bait him to wed her on account of her fine cooking. He just might let her catch him someday.

His foreigners were in the corner, at a table only they would choose – the one that was raised up an extra bit, with footrests so that the outsiders wouldn’t have to get their toes wet. Nu Ralik, what fools! he thought with amusement. Inside out of the sun, wearing shirts against its warmth, feet out of the tide. No wonder their thoughts are so odd.

He set his buckets down, nodding to Maib.

She eyed him. “Good fishing?”

“Terrible.”

“Ah well, your soup is free today, Ishikk. To make up for Vun Makak’s cursing.”

“Thanks much kindly,” he said, taking a steaming bowl from her. She smiled. Now he owed her. Enough bowls, and he’d be forced to wed her.

“There’s a kolgril in the bucket for you,” he noted. “Caught it early this morning.”

Her stout face grew uncertain. A kolgril was a very lucky fish. Cured aching joints for a good month after you ate it, and sometimes let you see when friends were going to visit by letting you read the shapes of the clouds. Maib had quite a fondness for them, on account of the finger aches Nu Ralik had sent her. One kolgril would be two weeks of soup, and would put her in debt to him.

“Vun Makak eye you,” she muttered in annoyance walking over to check. “That’s one all right. How am I ever going to catch you, man?”

“I’m a fisher, Maib,” he said, taking a slurp of his soup – the bowl was shaped for easy slurping. “Hard to catch a fisher. You know that.” He chuckled to himself, walking up to his foreigners as she plucked out the kolgril.

There were three of them. Two were dark-skinned Makabaki, though they were the strangest Makabaki he’d ever seen. One was thick limbed where most of his kind were small and fine-boned, and he had a completely bald head. The other was taller, with short dark hair, lean muscles, and broad shoulders. In his head, Ishikk called them Grump and Blunt, on account of their personalities.

The third man had light tan skin, like an Alethi. He didn’t seem quite right either, though. The eyes were the wrong shape, and his accent was certainly not Alethi. He spoke the Selay language worse than the other two, and usually stayed quiet. He seemed thoughtful, though. Ishikk called him Thinker.